Those Eyes

Setting an example

LEAH

The rest of the weekend passed smoothly. Didn't do much. I've spent a whole Sunday thinking about the massage and the woman giving it. Eyes closed; a soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips as my mind wandered back to the woman behind that enchanting touch—Rose. I couldn't help but notice the grace in Rose's every movement. With an elegant stride, she approached me, her warm smile putting me at ease. As Rose laid her hands on my shoulders, a wave of tranquillity washed over me. From the very first touch, I've sensed something extraordinary. It was as if Rose's hands possessed a divine magic, transmitting energy and relief directly into my weary muscles. Each stroke, each knead, was executed with impeccable precision, and I've found myself surrendering to the rhythmic dance of Rose's skilled fingers. She was so kind and helpful, took her time with me. Without pushing, without shame. Perfect at her job in every way, helping me to reach an ultimate climax. I've been thinking about visiting her again but need to gather some courage before taking my ass back in. No need to rush things, starting my first full week of coaching will keep me busy, probably will feel exhausted by the end of the week.

It's already Monday and today is filled with coaching sessions. I've planned extra sessions because we have a lot of catching up to do. Coming to coach a new team is always a challenge, but this team hasn't had a real cheerleader coach for a while now. Talent is present, although needs to be sharpened. Some girls could teach themselves; others need to step up, I want them to be on the same level. So, this week is jammed. I insist on practicing at the football field at least twice a week, in addition to the trainings in our gym. Indoor practice differs so much from outdoors. The weather, the sight, other distracting factors. Even the ground beneath their feet is different, making their way of jumping and moving more difficult. These girls need to adapt to every situation to master the movements perfectly.

Our football team isn't happy with me, stealing a part of 'their' space. Just this morning, when I started my first practice of the day for the junior performing team, the junior quarterback came up to me and tried to send us away. Luckily, Jason saw what happened and called his little Pit-bull back before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. He looked like a neutered puppy Pit-bull, with lots of drool. Thinking he's the man, acting up to an adult woman. Barking dogs seldom bite.

I didn't demand the space, nor did I convince anyone to give it to us. I just asked my uncle, and he said yes. Maybe he was too easily persuaded, and family ties may have something to do with this privilege. It's not like I played him. I want to keep our relationship strictly professional, but if we want to win some prices, I need to get those girls to their best levels as soon as possible, which means I'm taking every chance I get to provide them the best conditions. I think it's a common thing, the school's football team thinking they own the world. Thinking they're the only team that matters in a school. It used to be like that when I was in high school, and it still is. High school hierarchy. I'm new to this school so I shouldn't anticipate the facts, but I'm pretty sure the jocks and cheerleaders are at the top of the school's community.

The last practice is ongoing. Again, sharing the field with the football-team. They also have extra training for their upcoming game, so we'll be in each other's space a lot this week. Meaning much noise and extra, male, distraction. Dancing girls in small tops and short skirts, showing their bloomers with every jump they make, are attracting the lurking eyes of those permanently horny teenagers in way to well-fitting sports pants.

As my girls are fighting through their warmup session, an older, classy woman is approaching the football field, storming past my cheerleaders, heading to the football players. The woman must be mid-forties and looks like she carries a makeup artist, hairdresser, and stylist in her purse with her, ready to jump out and adjust after the softest wind blows something out of place. I hear one of the girls whisper, a bit too loud. "Isn't that Sarah? Steve's stepmom?" A few girls stay foot and start to stare at the woman, noise raising is causing a lack of concentration between the squad. I don't know the woman, but the behaviour of my girls tells me a lot. This is going to be a distraction and possibly even be a problem if it isn't' already.